


Maine Coastlines and Feeling Complete

by tempusborealis



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempusborealis/pseuds/tempusborealis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine-part set of unrelated drabbles published as a group. Nathan-centric, with healthy doses of Nathan/Audrey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prosthetic Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Range of ratings, but there is one chapter rated M (chapter 8). Everything else is T or lower.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole different type of programming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "robot".

He'd nearly forgotten, until very recently. The warm, gentle electricity of skin, how much simple pleasure could come of touch ( _handshake, brush, lick, bite_ ). The worst part was that he didn't always have this… affliction ( _disease, inadequacy_ ). If he tried, with a little bit of imagination, he could muster half-memories (the rest pleasant hypothesis and conjecture) of what it felt like. What feeling felt like. That was the ( _proverbial_ ) agony, knowing that sensation ( _only in little fictions of memory, of course_ ) and being denied actuality. But after years of deprivation, his mind had dulled his recollections ( _probably in self-defense_ ). As time passed, he fell into a robotic reality ( _wake up, grab coffee, come to work, avoid the Chief, argue with the Chief, make some peace, go to sleep, then do it all again_ ). Patterns, repetition ( _simplicity, unchallenging_ ). All the more like cans of metal for how little humanity he felt (paradox) without the benefit of touch. How human could he be? With a simple ( _anything but_ ) touch ( _kiss_ ), Audrey Parker had jolted nerves that should have never felt joy ( _thunder_ ) again. Now, his life was still rather like that of an android in those cheesy sci-fi movies she liked to watch after a long case ( _payment for making dinner, she insisted_ ). His programming was simple: touch. Every balmy rush her skin induced brought him closer to the final subroutine.


	2. Transposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A place without snow was a place without wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "inspiration".

Maine didn't get many tourists middle of December, so it was a treat to see the look on their faces when they realized just what they'd signed up for. Nathan had grown up measuring snow drifts by feet and yards, but he knew that a lot of places could only measure in inch. Singular. Personally, he liked he snow. Sure, it made roads a little treacherous, but everyone driving them knew how to handle it. If they didn't, they stayed home. The harsh winters of New England made him feel as though he deserved the spring. And if he was honest, he thought it was kind of... pretty. Like the world had been frosted. He had fond memories of his mother, who would help him make a snowman after every squall. But today he was standing in the snow with another woman, and she was utterly enthralled.

Coming from, well, anywhere south of Connecticut, she'd never seen this much snow in her entire life. He'd gone to pick her up this morning, his old pickup chugging up the slow, encrusted slope to the inn. When his truck had leveled out over the peak, he was greeted with a dumbfounded Parker standing on the porch. She was still wrapped in her light blue tartan bathrobe, holding out a hand from under her shelter to catch the slow-moving flakes. Audrey had been in Haven for a few months, but last night was the first big storm since she'd come. It was easy not to notice just how high the slowly accumulating snow was until a storm-full was deposited on top of you. She'd spluttered when the tally had reached twenty inches for the month so far, but there was just nothing like another eight feet ( _pshaw, only eight feet,_ he'd thought) dumped into your lap.

The sound of his tires crunching the snow seemed to break her from her reverie. When she realized it was him, he saw her glance quickly at her wrist, only to find that she wasn't wearing her watch. She looked a little embarrassed. crossing her arms against the cold as he alighted from his truck.

"Howdy, there, pardner," he drawled with a grin that he knew said gotcha. "You coming in today?" he asked, for the first time realizing that she could be feeling under the weather (no pun intended).

Looking down, she scuffed a slipper into the deck. "Yeah," she replied, not looking up and sounding what he thought was rather sheepish. "I just woke up this morning, looked out the window, and..." she trailed of, gesturing around her to the crystal landscape. "I mean, I knew it was going to snow, but this is like a blizzard".

That made Nathan chuckle. "Oh, no. You'll know when it's a blizzard," he returned with a grin. Her eyes grew wide as she shook her head and muttered something like 'and I decided to stay...?'. She hitched a thumb toward the door.

"I'm sorry, give me five minutes and we can go". She edged toward the door. "Come on in, it's pretty chilly out there." Fine by him, he wasn't in a hurry. The snow made it difficult to commit crimes anyway.

He trudged up the short set of stairs and caught the door as it swung behind her. Inside was a cheery sitting room he'd sat in on occasion, and today he chose the sage green armchair as Audrey disappeared to change. His fingers drummed on his knee out of habit, and he tried to decide how he felt about the faded yellow curtains with little pink flowers hanging along the windows looking out on the porch. People said women took a long time to get ready (granted, he'd never lived with one other than his mother), but they'd obviously never met Audrey Parker. He'd been lucky, he supposed - Jess had always been low-maintenance too.

Too? Was he comparing Parker to Jess now? Whoa boy. As he backed off those strange thoughts, he felt a little pang thinking about the woman who'd opened him up more than he ever had been since the reemergence of his condition. Other than Parker.

Damn, there he went again.

He wondered what Jess was up to. If he was completely honest with himself, he had known they wouldn't work out - he didn't think he could be with anyone until the Troubles departed again, hopefully taking his affliction with them. Who knew how long that would be? He wasn't holding his breath. Be he was eternally grateful for the mysterious woman's patience and kindness. And just because he couldn't feel her curves under his hands didn't mean he didn't appreciate them. Most of all, he'd had fun with Jess. He firmly believed she had been just what he needed, at the time. She had had her reasons for leaving, and he couldn't blame her. On some level, if he weren't personally affected by the Troubles, he would love to high-tail it and run, forget Haven and the bad memories it harbored. But he knew he could never do that. He had a duty. But some days, he was just so damn tired.

Loud clomping coming toward him across the hardwood floor snapped him back to reality. With a grin, he realized Parker was wearing the snow boots he'd given her. She grabbed her new parka (new, though it'd seen a lot of action lately) and he went over to hold the door for her while she zipped up.

Nathan thumbed through the keys on his ring, walking toward his truck on autopilot. After a few moments, he felt like something was off. He looked up and was greeted by the spectacle (that was definitely the right word) of Audrey Parker...frolicking. While they had been inside, fat flakes had begun to fall more thickly, and, even in her heavy boots, she was spinning. Tongue out, arms outstretched, she was attempting to catch the falling precipitate with joy written all over her face. Without any say-so from his brain, his body froze. Eyes wide, he began to guffaw. She spun to a stop in front of him, nearly pouting at his laughter resolved into a grin. He held her gaze for a moment longer and she honest-to-God snorted, dissolving into giggles. He laughed with her, their breath mingling in clouds of glitter that hung about them. She recovered enough to speak.

"It's just...so much snow," she huffed with a grin of disbelief. For a second, her eyes took on a far away look and she twitched her nose. "I think the snot has frozen inside my nose". He chuckled. "No, really," she insisted.

"It probably has. The forecast said negative twenty-five with windchill". She goggled at him for a moment, then shrugged.

"Does your car get really wet inside, after you get in with an inch of snow on your shoulders, or does it just freeze?" He rolled his eyes.

"It does get a little wet, but it tends to dry out quick with the blower on." She nodded vaguely, not looking at him.

"Good".

As he watched, she tore off for the nearest snow bank and hurled herself into it with a little whoop of glee. Nathan just shook his head, scratching the corner of his mouth now sporting an amused grin. Parker's head poked up from the feet-deep hold she'd made.

"Uh, Nathan?" she queried, not at all sounding sure of herself.

"You need help, there?" he deadpanned. He knew from experience that getting into those holes was a hell of a lot easier than getting out of them. At her helpless look, he grabbed her mittened hands and hauled her out.

Feeling lighter, they slogged back to the Bronco in the collecting snow. Briefly, he recognized his lightness as being joy. Joy, mixed with a little hope. The look of wonder he'd seen on Parker's face as she spun in the snow was the reason he stuck around, the reason everyone did. There was a freshness, and innocence about snow that was entrancing. The world got a blank slate, and somehow everything was just a bit easier to face.


	3. Potential Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because he couldn't feel the heat, didn't mean it wasn't affecting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "ice cream".

Family homes had air-conditioning, but a few years ago he'd seen the Chief give a new recruit a scathing look when asked why the station didn't have it. "It's Maine, rookie," was all the explanation he'd offered, and it had made Nathan chuckle. It did seem kind of silly to invest in AC when it was only needed maybe a month out of the year. It was a small town, they weren't made of gold. Since taking over as chief, Nathan was increasingly and more painfully aware every day.

He'd kept the same office, not wanting to go to the trouble of carting all of his things just across the hallway. Much easier to just move the nameplate (same one, no need to make a new one) to his door and use the old office to house three new desks for newbies; much needed space. Besides, he still couldn't shake the pervasive presence of the Rev, sitting in his father's worn office chair. One of his first actions as chief was to chuck that chair. Bad juju if he ever saw it.

Currently, however, he was less than thrilled with his choice. Parker was reclined in her chair with her petite feet resting on her desk. Her ivory shirt was unbuttoned in the heat, sweat glistening on her collarbone. Not that he minded her company. Normally. But today it was 102° with near 100% humidity (or so he was told), and she was languishing.

It was rather erotic.

The way she sighed, tying up her hair; how she dabbed her slick neck; how she closed her eyes to ward off lethargy had him transfixed. The fact that he felt none of her discomfort made it rather surreal, much like watching a movie. Her slim fingers toyed with her open collar as she searched the file in her hand for any reason whatsoever to escape into the blissfully cool interior of his beat-up Bronco. He followed an elegant fingernail as it traced the edge of her collar. She had been engrossed in her reading, but she sensed his eyes on her.

"Nathan? Are you okay?" She blew out a puff of air, lifting a hank of hair that had been dangling in front of her eyes. Closing her eyes, she continued. "This heat is making it difficult to focus, isn't it?"

She didn't realize her mistake, and he didn't correct her. He couldn't feel the heat, but it most definitely was impairing his ability to focus. It most certainly was.

That was it, is was time to take action.

"I'll be right back," he said getting up and jogging out the door. She looked after him in confusion, but made no attempt to move. When he came back ten minutes later, she was staring, unseeing, at the wall next to the door. Her eyes snapped to him, then shot to his hands.

He almost laughed as realization dawned across her elfin features and she immediately perked up.

"Ice cream?" she asked with a mixture of disbelief and excitement.

"Yep. Didn't you notice Alfred's cart at the end of the street this past week?" She wasn't listening as he handed over the scoop of ice cream he'd bought for her.

"Strawberry," she said with a smile as he extended the cone to her. "My favorite. You remembered". When she reached out to pluck it from his fingers, her hot skin rasped against his. She was so hot he almost dropped her treat. She shot him a funny look at his clumsiness, but it quickly changed to desperate gratitude. "Thanks, Nathan. This is just the thing."

He fervently hoped it would do something to assuage her state of overheating, because when he'd dashed out, he was at the end of his rope. He made his way back over to his own desk with his scoop of vanilla, settling into his seat. He finished off his confection in a few bites, then looked up to see if his partner was enjoying hers.

It was his undoing.

Her tongue lapped at the pink sphere, sending jolts of arousal down Nathan's body. He watched, helpless, as a pastel rivulet ran over her knuckles, only to be caught with tongue, teeth, and lips. As she licked her hand, he couldn't help but imagine his skin under her mouth, rather than hers. What would her ice-cream cooled mouth feel like on his collarbone, shoulder, at his ear whispering slightly dirty things he'd only be too happy to oblige? Her hot little hands touching every square inch of his skin? Danger, Will Robinson.

He swallowed dryly and realized she had paused in her...ministrations and had raised a quizzical brow. "Are you sure you're okay?" He cleared his throat hastily.

"Yeah, I'm fine". He switched tacts. "Just spaced out for a second," he returned with slight smile. She looked at him partly in concern, partly with skepticism.

"All right..."

Audrey wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but sometimes she could be oblivious, and he was damn grateful.


	4. Gilded Pines and Candy Floss Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brown suede and peach light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "apart".

At 4:47 AM, Nathan Wournos was the only one on the road. The pines of the Maine countryside slipped by peacefully, glowing with the early morning fairy light of blues and violets. He was on his way to Bangor, taking some low-priority evidence out to settle a zoning dispute involving felled trees and fences. Pretty boring case and pretty boring work, but it had to get there somehow. Usually he got Lyle Grant to drive them out, since he had a sister in the city, but the man was sick and Connie Lucchese was on maternity leave for the next three months. It was probably work beneath a police chief, but he was grateful for the quiet time in the early hours just to decompress. When you were responsible for an entire town, it was difficult to get any rest anywhere but outside it. Even then, you were always worried about what was happening when you weren't there. He'd figured this out in the past half hour and change, as this was the first time he'd gone outside Haven in probably months, but most definitely since he'd taken his position. As much as it had pained him, that was why he'd left Audrey behind. He couldn't very well have asked her to do this menial chore (well, he could have, but that wasn't his style), and it by no means required two officers. So he'd left his trusted deputy (he snickered a bit at the idea of Parker in a Stetson) behind to man the fort. He had the utmost confidence in her, but was still reluctant to go. He figured this is what it must feel like to leave your child home with a babysitter for the first time, no matter how highly recommended they'd come.

Truly, his car felt empty without the quick blonde. He even spared a glance at the passenger seat and felt a knock in his chest when his eyes confirmed what his brain already knew. Just light brown suede cut by swaths of peach light. It was the first time he'd left Haven since becoming chief, but it was also the first time since Audrey had blown into his life. The first time they'd really spent any sort of serious time apart, actually. Not that they had any sort of claim on each other, but aside from being partners, they were friends. And when you only had one, you were pretty much best friends by default. Last night, before parting ways, he'd told her of his plans to leave early in the morning. He wanted to be back ASAP to deal with any more bullheadedness from the two parties involved in the property quarrel (he didn't see what the big deal was if it was just a copse of trees, but he supposed it made a difference when you paid taxes on those trees). She'd scoffed at his concern as being unnecessary, telling him she could handle a couple of hot-heads, but that still hadn't changed the fact that he needed to go. Alarm set for four, he'd woken up to gray light filtering in through his blinds and his phone buzzing off the night-table. He flipped it open to see a text from Parker " _i'll handle the alamo, you just find the hand that fits the glove_ ". And even in this early morning respite, all he could think about was driving south again.


	5. Victories Moderate and Maritime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Norma's baked sea scallops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "your choice".

For some reason, he had been nervous. Honest-to-God nervous. It wasn't as though he hadn't had Parker over for dinner - they did it often enough, eating together while working on a case. Most of the time it was lunch or take-out, but they'd both prepared meals for each other in their kitchens (usually his, even when she was cooking).

What was different was that it was the first time since he realized he could feel her.

He hadn't had any plans to tell her tonight (though the voice in his head kept reminding him that he really had to), so why was he feeling trepidation? Settling down across her at the wide cherry table, he could see some of what he was feeling playing on her face. Except he did know why she was feeling that way, probably even a little nauseated. She had made the mistake of telling him that she didn't really like shellfish. He'd responded by telling her that was absolutely preposterous for a resident of Maine and that he'd make her a dish he promised she would love. Right now, she looked about ready to bolt. Of course he'd made some chicken just in case she really didn't like it, but he was nearly positive she would change her mind after taking one bite.

It wasn't that he was that confident in his cooking abilities, he was just that confident in his Aunt Norma's recipe for baked scallops. It wasn't just good, it was secret-until-she-died-and-willed-a-copy-to-all-her-family good.

"What is it?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Just try it". She gave him a look that said she wasn't taking any of his crap. He was better than that, and wasn't above playing games. She brought out the childish side in him. "Take a bite and I'll tell you".

She shot another look at him, but picked up her fork. For a moment, she seemed to reconsider and put it down. Opening his mouth, Nathan was prepared to cajole her, but she downed half her glass of white wine and picked the fork back up before sound made it past his lips. She, rather viciously, speared a scallop and all but glared at him as she shoved it all into her mouth. She chewed defiantly, never breaking eye-contact. He simply raised his brows and waited.

For some reason, he really wanted her to like it, even though she'd unequivocally stated that she would not. There were those nerves again. He supposed the he was just nervous in general around her, hoping that he wouldn't slip up and have her figure out his secret before he was prepared to tell her. He knew that was only part of it.

He needn't have feared. The exact moment she realized her mouth was filled with delight was visible, as her own eyebrows rose to match his. Slowly, she nodded as she finished chewing the morsel and her gaze slipped down to her plate. There was silence as she swallowed, and when she looked up, she was a bit sheepish. He simply looked at her until she was ready to admit defeat.

"Where did you learn to cook like that?" she asked finally, then added, "Not that your cooking isn't always delicious, just...for me to even get down a clam..."

"Scallop," he corrected. She looked like she didn't know what the difference was, and he didn't bother. "When you lose a sense, you try to compensate," he summarized. "Plus, I have a very talented dead relative".

She was already working on another mouthful. "This is absolutely heavenly," she said around lemony bread-crumbs and parsley. Nathan smirked.

"You won't thank me later, though". She lifted a brow at his cryptic statement. He continued. "Never order them in a restaurant again. You've been ruined for life, I promise you".


	6. Professional Aptitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "BAMF".

City-slickers never understood how this sort of thing could happen, but a small-town New England cop could see it easily. Around these parts, most folks had guns, plain and simple. Hunting was a popular pastime, as was the shooting range over in Tarker's Mill. But really, the most popular reason for having firearms began with a capital 'T' and ended with 'roubles'. Even though most of the time people didn't want to acknowledge the strange, unfortunate occurrences in town, they made this concession despite the fact it was probably the one thing that would do nothing to keep them safe. But it made them feel safer and he understood the need. So long as they owned them legally, firearms weren't much of an issue.

Usually. Of course, every statistic has examples that prove it wrong, and this particular example went by the name of Davis Bruce.

The station got a call around ten of ten saying that Davis had walked into Rosemary's brandishing his pistol. Typical Monday morning. They hadn't had time to talk to Bruce yet, since at the moment he was currently still waving his handgun around with a slightly wild look in his eyes, but something about this reeked of the Troubles to Nathan. First, the gun.

"Davis, it's me, Nathan Wournos," he opened, only to have the barrel now pointed at him. He responded by putting his hands up in the air. "Why don't you put down the gun, and we can talk".

"Enough talking!" the man cried, one hand going to his thinning brown hair. The muzzle of the gun flagged as he continued. "I have to do this," he pled, eyes beseeching, "Don't you understand?" He looked sad and brought the gun back up.

"Mr. Bruce," the high alto of his partner warned from over his shoulder. "I'm going to have to ask you to put down the weapon".

"Who asked you, Fed?" he catcalled. His gaze shifted to her. "You don't understand. You outsiders never can". The barrel of his gun shifted to her as well. "Good for nothing, that's what you are".

"Davis," he cautioned, "she's an officer with Haven PD and deserves the same respect any member of this town does." There was little doubt he'd said the wrong thing as Bruce swung the pistol back toward him, anger evident.

"No! She's—"

**BANG**

The assembled crowd gasped. The next thing he knew, Bruce was on the ground, cradling his hand and in obvious pain. The gun skittered to a stop at Nathan's feet. He looked over his shoulder to where Parker, tiny Audrey Parker, stood with a fierce look on her face, the barrel of her gun still smoking.

She'd shot the damn thing right out of his hand. He felt immensely proud.

Another deputy had gone to cuff Bruce while making sure he was going to be okay. Applause began to ring out, bouncing loudly off the linoleum floor. When she realized the danger was over, she lowered her gun and blushed, self-effacing. People came up to her and patted her on the back as she made her way toward him. He didn't say anything, and they walked out into the afternoon sun together where they scuffed to a stop near his truck. After a moment of silence, he began.

"That was—" he began. She cut him off.

"Hot, I know," she teased, pushing a tendril of hair from her face. He chuckled and responded with a grin.

"I was going for 'impressive', but 'hot' works too. I guess the FBI does have some moves". She slapped him lightly on the chest, then brushed off her blouse.

"That'll teach him some respect," she muttered. "'Outsider' my ass".


	7. Sums Over History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't really have any regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "death".

If he'd been in a position to take a good look at himself, he'd know that having his own house was rather ridiculous. Both he and the Chief were single men, living alone. And really, both of their houses were large enough for a small family unit. But it was hard enough to make a name for yourself in law enforcement when you were the son of the police chief, much less while living under the same roof. Nathan could honestly advise anyone that working for your father was a bad idea on so many levels. No one, however, would dare accuse Garland Wuornos of nepotism – their tensions were well-known (and well-heard) up and down the Haven coastline. Quite the opposite: Laverne had been known to implore each to be more understanding of the other, at one time or another. She claimed it aggravated her gout to see the men she loved fighting, but Nathan knew it was more for his benefit than hers.

Looking back now, it was difficult to see what he could have done differently. He saw Laverne (and others, in the department or otherwise) regard him with something akin to pity, but not quite. More like compassion with a healthy dose of regret. Regret for fences left unmended. Nathan understood intellectually the need to make peace, and in another life he could see himself wishing that he'd had a better relationship with the man who had (selflessly, he'd grant) raised him. But he was also a realist. Sometimes people just didn't get along. They'd had professional, personal, and ethical differences; in the end, that was a lot of difference. The hurdles of trying to live together had never seemed worth it.

But part of him, the part that was now sorting through his father's effects, wished that it could have at least been less hostile. It had been mulish and stubborn of him not to recognize that, like Nathan, all Garland did was for the safety of Haven. But unlike the residents of Haven who were just so sorry, he wasn't. Despite what he may have muttered under his breath for the last twenty years, Garland Wuornos had been a good man who had given him as normal a childhood as possible in this seaport. There was a laundry list of things for which Nathan would always be grateful, even if he never said them out loud, and he was okay with that. Because one thing they both had in common was an inability to express positive emotion with each other. And even if no one else understood, he was certain his dad knew. Nathan had known. Regardless of the yelling, there was a certain amount of inalienable respect built on some sort of love. As he sifted through bits of his childhood, he felt closer to his father than he had in years. Part of it was that the man wasn't there to defend himself, but Nathan found himself sort of almost glad they'd lived apart. It gave him this chance to see the man unfiltered, and without the paternal bluster, he was shaping up to be a decent sort of guy.


	8. Like Parched Dirt Absorbing Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't even remember why he shouldn't want this. A respite from reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "life".

"Parker, what are you doing?" He knew nervousness (and probably arousal) was written all over his face, but she didn't pay it any mind.

"Testing a theory," she replied calmly with downcast eyes, tracing his pecs (he was shirtless, when did that happen?) with the tip of her finger. Shots of electricity followed her digit along his chest and he was finding it difficult to breathe. Calm was the last thing on his mind.

"Um, wha–" was as far he got. The small woman gave him a gentle push backwards and somehow they were on his bed and her lips were attached to his throat. It took all his strength to bite back a groan as her tongue flicked, rasping against some stubble he'd missed this morning (easy when you couldn't feel it). Her warm, scantily clad body was lying half on him, a leg hooked over his, a hand resting lightly on his chest but somehow still exerting enough hot, heavy pressure to complicate his air supply. He took a shallow breath and opened his mouth to say something, only to be silenced preemptively by her fiery finger on his lips. Seconds later, she replaced it with her own explosive lips and Nathan saw stars.

His hand fluttered to her side in a half-hearted attempt to push her away. At that moment she slipped him some tongue and he was gone. His hand twisted itself in her thin cotton shirt, feeling her heat leech through. A fingernail scraped down the middle of his chest leaving dry sparks in its wake. Down being the operative word. When his hormone-addled brain realized her intention, he jumped, catching her face in both of his long hands. "I told you," she answered his unspoken question, looking down coyly. "I'm conducting a little experiment". She snatched his eyes with hers. Then she smirked, and that damned fingernail grazed under his chin. "Relax". Impossible.

No matter that he still had her head captured between his palms. Maintaining eye-contact, she simply began laying searing kisses down toward her goal. He could only take her smoldering gaze for a few seconds before his head tipped back in defeat and he fisted his hands in her hair. He couldn't even remember why he shouldn't want this.

Fingers that were more deft than he could have imagined toyed with the waistband of his boxers (he'd lost his pants too, apparently) and slid them down tantalizingly slow. By this time she'd shimmied down his body so that he could now feel her moist, hot breath across his abdomen. This time he did groan. It turned into a full-fledged moan as her hand grasped him through the folds of his thin clothing. He risked a glance down at her and was greeted by icy orbs than somehow only made him feel hotter. She looked up at him from under her lashes as she bit her lip. Taking a small breath, she opened her mouth but never said anything. Instead, she lowered it to his flesh, licking—

_Vggggggg_. Legs akimbo, Nathan fumbled for the cell phone vibrating gratingly on his side-table, sliding off the bed in the process. And now it was on the floor, out of arms reach. He took a second to lean against the box spring, scrubbing a hand over his face. Breathing still heavy, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto his mattress. That was one way to wake up. The phone had stopped buzzing, and he hauled himself up to retrieve it.

Of course. **PARKER**  was the name scrolling across his screen and he knew if he looked in a mirror he'd see a flush. Wasn't that just perfect? He flipped the phone open and hit the redial button, checking his breathing as he waited. Her voice was way too cheery for, what was it - 5:49 AM, he decided. If he'd only had a few more minutes… Welcome back to real life, he thought wryly.


	9. Full of Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Friend' was such a paltry word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "fear".

"Are you okay?" she, it, had asked, concerned. Or perhaps it was more nervously.

"No," he replied, very nearly ready to sob, "I'm not,"

He'd most definitely thrown caution to the wind when he'd cupped her lovely face and brought them together in a kiss. The kiss he would deny he'd thought about more and more lately. He just had to make sure, even though the nothingness in between his hands had been enough. He thought he was doing an admirable job of keeping his voice level, despite the sheer panic flooding his veins with adrenaline. This was one of the times he was just a little bit grateful for his condition. There were plenty of signs that betrayed distress through body language, but they were contingent upon things like feeling your heart clench, feeling cold sweat along your spine, feeling short of breath. In short, feeling. But muscle memory was enough to pull the trigger when fear turned to wrath.

He was sure his eyes were a little wild, but he could only devote so much of his attention to appearances when his world was spinning. Traces of memory threaded through his muscles, and he could almost (but not quite; never quite) feel the alternately cool and warm wash of chemicals sending conflicting messages to his brain. He'd shot her. Audrey. But it wasn't her. The anger subsided, sated for a moment and the terror clawed its way to the top. He felt lightheaded as he fell to his knees beside the imposter whose eyes were rolling like a frightened horse. "You killed my friend," he barely ground out. 'Friend' felt like such a paltry word to describe the one person who made him feel anything approaching human again. How could he do this…  _living_ , without her?

"How- how did you know it was me?" it asked weakly, heaving shallowly.

He hated that this thing would be the first he would tell, but a surge of rage pushed him to the edge. In that instant, Nathan almost understood those villains who revealed their plans in time to be foiled. But there would be no foiling today – he was a good shot any day, but especially with fury as a crosshairs. "Audrey," his whisper worshipped. "I can feel her touch. I can't feel yours". He felt a harsh despair settle over his chest, making it difficult to breathe. It writhed on the ground in its death throes like a moth pinned to a board; a deceptive moth that wore the beautiful countenance of a butterfly it could never hope to be.

The next few seconds saw his heart change rhythms several times – anger, disgust, frustration; then joy and again unadulterated fear. "She's alive…?" he queried, almost unseeing, unbelieving. "Where is she?  **Where is she?** ". Powerful dread, as he ran down the corridor, that he'd be too late. Fright that all this rain had drowned the butterfly. But under it, closest to his heart, hope.


End file.
